


Black Dog

by SpuffyCarrie



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Complete, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 05:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpuffyCarrie/pseuds/SpuffyCarrie
Summary: One shot, set 19 Days after the fall of Sunnydale, Spike appears in Angel’s offices at Wolfram and Hart. 19 Days following that he turns up in a different place altogether to find a Slayer whose life has fallen apart. This story isn’t about dark depression or severe mental health issues, but it is about depressive feelings of grief and loss, so it’s not a warm and fuzzy drama. However, there is light at the end of the tunnel and a happy ending. This fic is un betaed so any mistakes are my own.Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable music, characters, settings, pictures etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.





	Black Dog

Dawn hurried home from school, the bright European sunshine, a contrast to that of California. The heat of Rome felt different, drier somehow. 

She couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was following her, she tossed her head and glanced behind her a few times to see if she was being followed. Rome was nice and all, but it wasn’t home, there were weird men who gave too much attention and Buffy had warned her about their wandering hands, not to get to close to the amorous Italians. Perhaps she was being too wary? She shivered, not noticing a black mini-van slowing to a halt as it followed, its tinted windows obscuring whomever waited inside.

Dawn hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder and continued down the Nuova Strada Europea towards home, well, towards her and Buffy’s house, she wasn't sure she could call it home, they’d only been living there a few months. They’d rented an old mansion house, masonry crumbling and revealing deteriorating sun-bleached, brickwork underneath.  Buffy had intended to renovate it, telling Dawn she needed something to concentrate on after the recent events. Dawn wondered if this was because of the losses they’d suffered.

A few weeks in Buffy had headed to her room and holed up for what turned out to be weeks, never wanting to get out of bed, never eating, hardly leaving the room but to use the bathroom. Dawn heard her tears at night when Buffy thought her sister was asleep and she saw the pale and wan figure every time she ventured to peer around the door to her room.

As Dawn reached the front steps, the feeling of being watched became stronger and she raced to open the front door with the rusty iron key, frowning. In Rome people couldn't even have a key like normal people, she thought in irritation. She opened the antiquated door by hitting it hard with the palm of her hand and rushing inside, heaving it closed behind her.

Her footsteps echoed in the silence of the house as she rushed to the front window and saw the nose of the van just behind the cypress bush at the end of the drive. She made a mental note to tell Buffy later.

The kitchen was the same as she’d left it, her empty cereal bowl on the counter along with her juice glass. Buffy hadn't left her room all day. The pots of paint they’d brought while the idea of this house was fresh in their minds still stood untouched, pristine brushes placed uniformly in their packets, like they’d been discarded along with any industriousness her sister had felt weeks ago, idle and falling foul of Buffy’s inertia.

She made toast and coffee for Buffy, determined to make her eat something today. Sleeping in a darkened room with dusty drapes blocking any fresh air which may make her feel any better was just not good enough. They may as well have stayed with Xander or Giles if this was all their life was to be. Buffy could’ve used the money given by the new Slayers council to buy a brand-new apartment, a residence where Dawn could at least entertain friends without fear of plaster falling on their heads, where the toilet flushed and spiders did not congregate in every nook.

Buffy’s original promise to care for her had sadly fallen by the wayside to her grief. It wasn’t that Dawn didn't understand, she missed Spike too and Anya and the fallen Slayers had been her friends, even if they drove her crazy because there was never any milk or cereals left. “Not much different here.” Dawn muttered to herself as she used the last of the milk in Buffy’s coffee.

She missed the fact they’d never be able to visit their mom’s grave or go knock on Spike’s crypt when things were bad at home. The last words she’d said to him had been way harsh and she never would have set him on fire, she was just hurt by what had happened with Buffy and afraid she’d put her trust in someone who was capable of hurting her sister like that.  Since she’d had more time to think about it all, she realised that things weren’t as easy to compartmentalise as she thought. Her sister loved Spike, he was the ying to her yang and they had a complicated relationship. Spike had never left, not really, he’d always been there for them both if they needed him. He was trying to be good and he made a mistake and if Buffy could forgive both him and her own sister for her treachery when she needed her support the most, then she could forgive Spike too. She just wished he was here now for her to tell him how sorry she was for what she said to him and here to get Buffy to come out of that stinky old room to at least take a bath.

The wooden stairs protested under her weight as she carried a tray up, heading right to the door at the end of the corridor. She didn't knock, it was pointless as Buffy would barely speak these days. “Buffy?” She said into the gloom, spotting her sister lying on her side, staring at the wall, “Buffy, I know you’re depressed and all, but you need to eat and drink something.”

Dawn moved closer, walking to the other side of the bed. Buffy’s eyes were vacant and bloodshot as they flickered to the tray and then to Dawn.

“I’m not hungry.” She said gloomily, pushing the tray away and turning back to her wall watching.

Dawn didn't have an insurmountable amount of patience and that was the last straw. She slammed the tray down on a grubby side table. “I’ve had it with the wallowing!” Dawn yelled as she strode to the windows and flung open the drapes with some trouble as the old hooks didn't want to move aside, flinging open the windows, wood splintered and fell to the ground below, this ruined her grand gesture. Dawn dusted off her hands and turned. “I want you to eat while I go run you a bath, this has to stop Buffy, you can't live like this, I can’t live like this!”

This was the first time in over a month she’d seen her sister in daylight and she was shocked by how pale and tiny she was. Her puffy eyes made her look older than she was and her hair looked matted. Dawn softened, “Please, Buffy, just eat and I’ll get the bath ready.”

...

Life had become a dreamscape since Buffy had taken to her room. The initial rush of adrenalin gone from when they first arrived as a wave of darkness had engulfed her. She hadn't left the house to patrol in weeks and spent her days thinking of Spike and all they’d lost with melancholy and sleep as the only friends she felt she had left. She’d forgotten Dawn, she’d ignored everything else, only the black dog of depression lay with his head in her lap, his body coiled around hers like a boa constrictor. 

Buffy lifted the toast to parched lips and took a bite, it tasted and felt like sawdust, but she continued to chew, if not only to get her sister off her back and leave her be. The coffee tasted acrid and bitter, too strong and dark for her taste, but it had cooled so she drank it down.

Dawn stood in the doorway, chewing her lip worriedly.

Buffy rose, her limbs protesting from lack of movement or exercise and her head woollen with dehydration. It had been early that morning she’d staggered to the bathroom and drank down mouthfuls of water from her hand, peeing and heading back to the solace of her bed.

“I’m gonna make you some soup while you have a soak, I want you to eat it - all of it - downstairs where I can see you.” Dawn demanded, her voice betraying her as she tried to remain stern, but concern colouring her words. “We need groceries and you’re going to go to the store. Whatever you do after that is up to you.”

Buffy nodded, anything to be left alone. She stripped off clothes which should have been put in the laundry basket days ago, leaving them on the floor as she took a step into the bath. Laying back into the aromatic vanilla bubbles, she let out a groan, feeling warmth flood through her body, relaxing as she felt some of the oppressive feelings leave her as the steam rose above her.

Dawn deserved better than this, but how was she supposed to carry on without him? Spike. The only one who would show her she still had purpose in this life if he were here, she could almost hear him; “Get up off your lazy arse, Slayer, there’s baddies to be dusted an’ you’re better than this!” She was better than this, but the darkness had taken hold of her and there seemed no light at the end of the tunnel. Nothing could bring him back.

Dawn had laid out some comfortable clothes, jeans, sneakers and a tee, along with a functional cotton bra, panties and her hairbrush. She set about the arduous task of ridding her locks of almost dreadlocked tangles as she sat on the side of the bath, wrapped in her favourite pink fluffy towel, the usual joy of the feel of its softness somehow lost on her. 

...

Dawn peered out into the darkness, she was sure she’d seen a shadow again. The streetlights were dim, and she felt certain there was something scoping out the house. She heard a creak behind her as Buffy trudged down the stairs, she was wearing the clothes she’d laid out and she’d brushed her hair at least, it was still damp but in the heat, it would soon dry, Dawn had no doubt. “I just need to nuke your soup.” She bustled by, leaving Buffy no time to complain or avoid eating. Dawn thanked god for the microwave, it seemed to be her only friend.

Her sister followed her and stopped in the doorway, turning her head suddenly. “Are we alone?” she asked.

“Yeah, why? Who would I bring back to this dump? The cast of Extreme Makeover?” Dawn said prissily.

“It’s just, uh, for a moment I...”

“Just eat, and don't use distractions to get out of it.” Dawn said, placing the bowl before her. Her sister looked thin, and ghostly pale, the rings under her eyes almost black. “Buffy, I...”

“Don’t say it, please don't, I know, uh, I’ll try to do better.” Buffy didn't meet her eyes when she spoke, but it was enough for now.

“I have homework.”

“OK, uh, yeah, you need to do that.” Buffy said as she drank back a few spoons of the chicken noodle. She grimaced at its flavour but continued to eat.

Dawn moved to the door, stopping before she left, “Sorry, it was the closest I could get to the soup back home, I know it's pretty yuck.” Grocery store food wasn't the same in Europe, like many things.

....

The silence hit Buffy as soon as Dawn left, there was nothing but silence in this house and she felt the calm here, she hadn't in so long. It was almost like being buried amongst the ruins of her life. Her friends hadn't cared when she took her money from the Council and left with no real plan. They had jobs, working for the Council, even Xander, and Buffy was given the choice of join the status quo or find something else to do with her life. She had chosen Rome for her and Dawn but then left her sister to her own devices, hoping the American school and her new friends would keep her occupied. She hadn't bargained that her sister wouldn't find things in her new life to fill her time, that she’d come home every night and be alone, worrying.

Earlier, she’d felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, like he was close, but she’d brushed aside, of course he couldn't be here. She’d spent so long dreaming of him in her own company and now she was a few sandwiches short of a picnic or ‘off her gourd’ like the man himself would say.

His loss was like a smouldering burn, like that of a cigarette pressed to flesh, the keening burn, like that of acid and apt to get badly infected if not treated. The infection had taken hold and she wasn't sure how to stop it, she didn't even know the word in Italian for penicillin, but it wasn't what she needed anyway. She needed him, he was her antibiotic and she was like someone suffering from an illness no longer treatable by the medication. Life wasn’t life any longer. Her life had been left back in the remnants of Sunnydale, along with, him, her mind and any urge to take care of herself.

\---xxx---

**Columns Theatre, Death Valley.**

“It's not your destiny. It's mine.” Angel said, from his place on the floor. Spike had beaten him and this time he would have his moment of glory over his grandsire.  
   
Spike faced Angel, still holding the cup. “Still can't accept it? It's pathetic, really. All your life's been a lie. Everything you've done—the lives you've saved, dreams of redemption—all that pain... all of it for nothing. 'Cause this...” He looked at the cup, “Was never about you. Cheers.”  
   
He drank back the contents of the goblet.  
   
Come hell or high water, he’d triumphed, and, at that moment, it was all that mattered.  
   
Then there was her. Buffy. If he was going to dust, he wanted his last thoughts to be of her.  
   
**The Desert Highway**

Somehow the thrill of driving the Viper was lost when he left the theatre. He’d turned off the radio, a bitter taste left in his mouth when he’d walked past Angel and decided this wasn’t for him. He realised he’d been sucked in by the Angel and his compatriots because they’d saved him from hell, and had spent too long in the stinking city already. The moment he thought he might be gone forever left him in no doubt of who he should be saying his last goodbyes to. It was the one person who didn’t know he was back, the one who he knew would be angrier than a torched wasps nest if she found out he hadn’t let her know. The girl in question was a crusade for both he and Peaches, except, Spike knew she would hate him if he didn’t at least call her. 

Rome, he knew she was in Rome and he at least owed her a visit. She might tell him he was an idiot or that things could never be the same, even that she wished he hadn’t returned, but it was worth trying, at least then he could find some way of moving on without being under the thumb of his grandsire. Fuck that, Angel seemed intent on going to hell in a handbasket and Spike had already straddled hell recently, it wasn’t his cuppa. Leaving the Viper at the airport he lit a fag as he watched and waited for an opportunity to board a flight. 

\---xxx---

Faces, so many faces passed her but none who acknowledged her, the girl with the straggly, blonde hair, the girl who looked wan and sick. Perhaps they thought she was a junkie and they wouldn’t be far wrong, except, the addiction she had was for something that couldn’t be bought in some back alley or street corner, no, her addiction was far, far worse. It was bringing her to her knees, she was an addict for self-torment.

Anytime a flash of blonde hair caught her eye, her head snapped up, feeling the disappointment well in her gut. It wasn’t him, it was never him and it never would be.

She dropped some oranges from her bag and they rolled into the busy road, she rushed off the sidewalk to save them, more tumbling out as she reached the others. “Fuck!” She hissed, ignoring the cars and Lambrettas as they sped past her, cars honking and those on scooters yelling in Italian.

Single-mindedly, she sought out every stray piece of fruit and returned to the bag.

At once a speeding car slammed on its breaks, burning rubber before her, its headlights blinding her.

She stood, awaiting the hit, bracing for the impact and she smiled, perhaps this was for the best.

……

The Polizia dropped her home, there was some kindness when she told them she was American, she lived here, and she didn’t speak the language. She told them she had recently had a bereavement and after much shouting with the driver and large gesticulation, they agreed they would press no charges.

She watched as the owner of the car shouted, his finger pointing at her and calling her a ‘Ragazza stupida’ and ‘Cagna pazza’ before she began to cry. It hadn't ended as she thought, and, for that, she was inconsolable. All this could have ended in a place where no-one knew her, where she was another face on the street. 

_“Every day you wake up, it's the same bloody question that haunts you: is today the day I die?” And part of you wants it... not only to stop the fear and uncertainty, but because you're just a little bit in love with it.”_

_Death is your art. You make it with your hands, day after day._

_That final gasp. That look of peace. Part of you is desperate to know: What's it like? Where does it lead you? And now you see, that's the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw or the kicks you didn't land. Every Slayer... has a death wish.”_

His voice was as clear as the day she’d first heard it and she gulped as Dawn spoke with the police and ushered her inside, saying nothing as they walked up the stairs and Dawn tucked her into bed. She climbed in beside her and hugged her close as she sobbed, whispering words her mom would have if she’d been there as she clung to the only person who cared.

\---xxx---

He hated Italy, spent some time there back in the fifties with Dru, his dark princess seemed to fit right in with her slim figure and all the latest garb. He’d wanted to leave as soon as he arrived but the draw of the woman he loved wouldn’t let him.

Picking up his cell, he tutted to himself, he hated being so accessible, but needs must when the devil drives. There was ringing for several seconds before it was answered.

“Hello?”

“Scanner girl,” He drawled, knowing she’d recognise his voice right away, “Need your help.”

“Spike?” She sounded surprised, before she muffled the phone with her hand, “Angel’s mad,” She whispered, “He’s pissed about the Viper and he looks like hell, where are you?”

“You said I was worth saving once, pet.”

“Uh, yeah, Spike, what’s going on?”

“Can you use your scientific mojo to find someone for me?” Spike said hopefully. “I need to find Buffy, an’ you’re the only one who can help, do you have a gadgety thingy that can trace her in Rome? The big poof would never let me know where she was, he’d bloody dust first.”

Fred sighed in exasperation, “For you, but Angel can’t know.”

“Cheers, love, you’re one in a million.”

“Take care of yourself, I didn’t waste my annual budget to get you corporeal just for Buffy to stake you.” She chuckled.

\---xxx---

Dawn was at her wits end, she couldn’t go to school and leave Buffy like this and her attempt at getting her back into the real world had failed, badly. “I need you to get up and come downstairs, we need to start fixing this place up or I’m calling Giles to come get us.” She said, softly, when she heard Buffy wake. It had been four am when Buffy finally slept, and Dawn had only a few hours of sleep herself. She was at the point where she needed to give Buffy that ultimatum, Giles was it, he would take her under his wing and make her better again if she told him.

The trouble was, it felt like a betrayal again, she had no real respect for Giles, he’d been Buffy’s watcher, yet he’d allowed her to eject her own sister from her home. At the time she’d felt such peer pressure she hadn’t known what to do for the best, she knew she’d made a mistake as soon as her sister left, and she told Rona to shut her mouth when she said ‘Ding, dong, the witch is dead.” She wanted to take the girl and shake her by the throat, how dare she! The urge to run after Buffy was so strong she didn’t know why she didn’t flip them all the bird and run. Her disloyalty was reiterated by Spike when he arrived home and by then it was too late, she’d just had to take Spike’s wrath and watch as he and Faith kicked the crap out of each other.

_“So, uh, Buffy took some time off right in the middle of the apocalypse, and it was her decision? Oh, yeah. You all decided. You sad, sad, ungrateful traitors. Who do you think you are?”_

She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to shake of the pain and anxiety of the situation, she’d sold out her only sister and now she had to live with her guilt. Spike hadn’t even been able to look at her, it had been excruciatingly painful. He’d been there through every moment Buffy wasn’t, like an adopted father, but then he’d let her down. Xander had told her the truth and she had no choice but to feel the way she did, he’d hurt her worse than her own father had.

Now, when she’d had the opportunity to take stock and understand, she realised it wasn’t quite as easily explained as she thought. Xander kept in touch occasionally, Willow hardly ever, although she’d heard the harridan, Kennedy, hadn’t lasted long and let a satisfied grin cross her face, Willow had retained some common sense.

“Hey,” She grasped Buffy’s hands, “We could paint this place anyway we want, I want my room neon pink!”

Buffy looked up, her eyes almost dead, “Fine, as long as mine can be black.”

Dawn was fighting a losing battle and she didn’t have the energy for much more of this.

\---xxx---

Spike saw Dawn head inside the run-down house and wondered whatever had possessed the two to buy such a piece of shite. True, it could’ve been worth a pretty penny in its heyday, but it was nothing more than a barely held together pile of rubble now. Sure he hadn’t been seen, he stepped out of the light, pulling the cloak tightly around him and heading back to the haven of the van with tempered glass, it was a godsend.

He knew the cloak was a bit twee, but it had been the first thing he’d been able to pinch at a local market and sometimes Halloween had its uses.

He’d watched the house for hours and there was no sign of Buffy. He knew she was there, her scent washed over him, his reaction to her the same as ever, his fangs itched, and his demon howled for her, his hardness throbbing like some water diviner.  
Deciding to head back to a motel and gather some courage to face her, he headed off in search of a butcher's, what did they call them here? Boucher? No, that was French, ah, yes, Macellaio.

.......

At sunset the next night, Spike decided it was now or never, he would just go and knock on the door. His head throbbed with the bitter backlash of the bourbon he’d drunk the night before and he regretted the Dutch courage he’d lost himself too. He would have had a lot of courage, enough to maybe stagger to her house, babble incoherently and pass out on the porch. Relief washed over him, he hadn't ever been the type to hold back when he had an idea, but luckily getting pissed had been in the forefront of his mind. He’d thought, more than once, of heading back to LA without putting himself through what could potentially be more heartbreak or even a superior kicking of his arse for not telling her he was back. Or worse, she could have some new man at her beck and call, playing house and setting up a new life for herself, she could slam the door in his face. Only time would tell.

\---xxx---

Buffy painted, if it could be called that. Her hand moved in a mechanical way and the paint was going on the wall, she also had less on herself than when she first started painting Dawn’s room. It wasn't a bad task to undertake, it didn't require much thought and she kind of liked the monotony of it.

“Buffy, I think that part is done now,” Dawn said patiently, taking the brush from her hand and passing her a roller, “Here, come do this wall.” She directed.

It was only when Dawn’s voice had interrupted her, that she realised she’d spent the last five minutes painting the same small patch. The dog unfurled and stretched, awaking in her mind and she felt a prickle of anguish. Her whole body ached, and she rolled her head to remove the tension from her shoulders. It had been the same for weeks, mental anguish manifesting as physical pain. At night she dreamed, if she could call them dreams, nightmares so intense she woke up panting and soaked with sweat any solace she’d found, perforated.

They weren't always about those final days in Sunnydale, or even Spike, sometimes they were about Lothos, the Master, Merrick or the time she was put into that hospital when her parents wouldn't believe she was the Slayer. She wanted, no needed, to ask for help but the echoes of that time caused her to panic at the thought. Her anxiety regarding any medical professionals knowing how she felt caused her to shove her head deeper and deeper into the sand, until she felt safe, burrowed in the compact space of her bed.

“I-I need to go...”

By the time Dawn had looked around, Buffy had disappeared back to her bed.

“Baby steps.” Dawn whispered to herself.

...

“Fuck, fuck.” Spike found himself striding up and down the strada, half a block from Buffy and Dawn's house.

Panic had set in by now and he berated himself for the sad wanker he was, he needed to just grow a pair and bloody well knock on the door. Decision overriding the trumpeting elephants running amok in his belly, he strode right to the house and knocked hard on the door.

He could sense the bit and Buffy within and he clenched his fists awaiting someone to answer, before knocking again impatiently.

The door was slung open, “Gee, hold your horses, I’m...” Dawns eyes were wide as she took a stumble back. “Is it you? Is it really you?” She whispered, her eyes shining with tears.

“Yeah, ‘s a long story, I...” Before he finished his sentence, she launched herself into his arms, sobbing, “Thank god for you, I’ve prayed for help, we needed you and you came, I missed you, I missed you so much.” She sobbed into his shirt.

Taken aback, he allowed himself to wrap the blubbering girl in an embrace, petting her head and stroking her hair. “What’s all this then?” He murmured, listening to her repeating, “You came.” over and over.

....

Once she’d recovered from the shock, Dawn invited Spike in and made them both a hot drink. “We don't have any blood, we really didn't have the need anymore.” Dawn said, the mug clinking as she stirred it.

Spike looked restless and was pacing the kitchen like he might well have ants in his pants.

“You’d better sit down.” Dawn suggested, sitting herself at the kitchen table.

“What’s wrong? Is your sis alright? You said I came when you needed me, is she hurt?” The concern in his voice was clear as it wavered.

“She’s...uh, she’s been in bed for weeks, I can't seem to get her to do anything, she won't wash, doesn’t change her clothes and she hardly eats. I’m worried about her, Spike, like really worried. I didn't know what to do.” A tear slid, unbidden, down her cheek and Spike reached out and wiped it away.

“S’pose she’d feel lost after what happened, she isn't the only chosen one now, lots o’ lil’ Slayerettes running ‘round doin’ her job. She’s lost her purpose is all, you just need to get her to see there’s a good life to be led an’ she can do what she wants now.”

Dawn shook her head, he wasn't understanding her at all. “Spike, do you really not know why she’s like this?”

Spike looked perplexed.

“She told me she said she loved you, a-at the end, surely you remember?” She continued.

“Of course, I bloody remember, ‘s forever etched in my noggin.”

“And you didn't believe her...” Dawn was silent for a moment, waiting for her words to sink in. Surely, he didn't need any further explanation?

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “She didn't mean it, pet, she was tryin’ to find the right words, you know, what else do you say to someone who's goin’ all kamikaze for the cause?”

Dawn didn’t reply, hoping he would work out the answer.

He stood and looked up at the ceiling, mentally seeking out Buffy, “You’re tellin’ me she’s in this state ‘cause o’ me?”

“Why does that seem so hard for you to understand? She told me some, uh, stuff, about your relationship at the end, how she always loved you, how it was just difficult to juggle her calling and her conflicting emotions for you.”

“Since when did you get so wise, platelet?”

“Someone has to be the grown up around here and I’ve had to step up, Spike, for her.”

....

_“Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her. To be hers.”_

A feeling of elation flooded through him. How long had he waited to hear those very words from the mouth of the woman he loved? Dawn’s admission took him one step closer to that. His girl was only on the level above his head, pining away for him. The thought angered him, he should have come sooner, he could’ve stopped her from falling deeper into the pit of despair, from running away from her life because of him. A girl like Buffy should be out there, grabbing life by the balls and making it her own, not wasting away in a darkened room.

His fingers twitched, she was within touching distance. Dawn continued to talk but he’d filtered her out minutes ago, all he could think of was Buffy. Stuff politeness, “Sorry, bit, I’ve gotta go up there, right now.” And with a flash of black leather, he disappeared up the staircase, taking them two at a time.

...

The door to the room opened and she shifted, pulling the covers over her head. “Dawn, you said you’d leave me alone if I did as you said, I beg you, please just let me sleep.”

“An’ why would I do that, Slayer?” Her heart almost stopped, now she was going crazy and hearing Spike.

 _Not here, not here_ , “Not here!” She yelled out loud.

Is it not enough to be in the grip of this damn misery but now her mind was playing tricks on her. “Go away, you’re not real!”

She felt the bed sink as someone sat beside her. “As real as you are, pet.” He said softly.

She blinked and gulped, feeling suffocated under the sheets, her mouth was dry, and she rifled through the fog in her brain to find the right words. “You’re dead.”

“Perhaps I was, love, but I’m back, bloody hell, you know first-hand it's possible. You can come out now.”

She tentatively peered over the covers before covering her face again. “I can't, you can’t see me like this.”

“Buffy, love, you know I’ve seen the best an’ the worst of you, come on, pet, talk to me, tell me what this is all about.”

She found herself moving hesitantly and pulled the covers back. If he was shocked by what he saw, his reaction didn't show it. All she saw was his genuine, toothy grin and a look of relief. “How?” She whispered.

“I don’t rightly know, the trinket got sent to Angel’s office a month or so back, someone mojo’d me back from the great beyond. Spent some time as a ghost, then got re-corporealized by some flash in a box, story of my life, bloody hate magic at the best of times.”

Somehow, she knew he wasn't telling her everything, but it didn't seem to matter. She felt self-conscious and stepped from the bed on wobbly legs. “I, uh, I...”

“Take it easy, Dawn told me you weren't doin’ so well, care to enlighten me?” He reached for her but she avoided his touch, hoping he didn't notice her pull away. His usual biting wit seemed gone and his words were more sincere than anything she’d ever heard him utter. She chanced a glance at his face, his eyes were soft, god, his eyes were so loving, and she felt that all-consuming feeling she always did while he was around, like she was mesmerized and under his spell. If she told him why she felt this way, she’d have to admit her feelings for him and, at this moment, it was more terrifying than spending the rest of her life wasting away yearning for him.

Hearing no reply, he continued. “She said, err, she said you two talked about me an’ she told me you were pinin’ away up here for someone you love.” He turned his face away, unable to look at her.

Buffy found some metal from somewhere, “Why, that little snitch!” She grumbled, flouncing over to the dresser and taking out a clean towel, “She just had to go and blurt it out.”

Spike began to laugh, throwing his head back and slapping his thighs, “That’s my girl!” He announced, smirking at her.

For the first time in weeks, she found herself grinning back at him and for a moment she thought her face might crack.

“So?” He queried.

“So, what?”

“Do you?”

“Do I what, Spike?”

“Look, Buffy, this is no time for playin’ games. Dawn, she said you were mournin’ someone, since Anya an’ the Slayerettes we lost were not your best mates, seems there was only one other person you lost back there, someone who spent his final moments tellin’ you a load of tripe to get you out of the soddin’ buildin’”

Buffy felt sick, she hadn't expected the Spanish Inquisition and Spike now stood right before her, his fingertips delicately brushed a lank strand of hair from her face. She found herself looking up into his eyes, barely a foot between them. “You were lying?” She breathed.

“Course I was lyin’, I’ve been waitin’ years to hear you say those words, you never would’ve left, Buffy, I didn't want you to be burned up with me, you have a life to live, pet. I’ve had mine twice over an’ then some.”

She placed her hands flat on his chest, it felt exactly the same as ever, strong, muscular, and she could allow herself to truly believe he was there. The same old Spike, the coat lacked the old scent, it smelled newer somehow, that thought was for another time, so she discarded it.

“I thought...”

“Thought I didn't love you, I’d wager. Buffy, I’ve never lied to you, that was the one time I lied, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, wanna know what the other was?” He waited for her reply, she shook her head and he continued, “Leavin’ you, knowin’ no-one else had your back like I did. They all followed you at the end, you were their leader an’ those wankers all looked soddin’ contrite enough to make it believable. But to leave you and never know how it was gonna turn out for you, pet, buggered me up, good an’ proper, it did.”

....

Ah, had he taken things too far? She’d let out a snivel and he was at a loss how to fix her. All he could offer was himself. What if that wasn't enough? What if she needed someone more than him, someone who could give her the life she deserved? Corn fed had never managed it, he’d lost her through sheer stupidity, but there could be a human man out there who could give her security, a family, be her equal by allowing her to be herself. Was he taking that away from her by even being there? All of these fears dissipated when she threw herself into his arms, sobbing.

“Spike, it’s you, it’s really you, I thought I’d lost you.”

He wrapped her in his arms and peppered kisses all over her face and head as she coiled around him, her eyes leaking but her voice happy.

“Mphh lomp you.” She said from somewhere within his jacket.

“Huh? Not sure I heard you right, love.”

“I said,” She emphasized her words, “I love you, so much, and I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Me too, sweetheart, my only love, me too.” He dropped his head, clasping her face between his hands, while smoothing her cheeks with his fingers. The kiss was tender and affectionate, probing but almost chaste. There would be time to rejoice in each others bodies again but, for now, they would spend time getting to know each other, something they’d never done before, the root cause of such angst in the past.

The road to Buffy’s recovery wouldn’t be just as easy as having Spike back, although that certainly helped. It took time for her to remember her place in the world, to find herself again and to learn to fight for herself.

The black dog stretched, waking from an uneasy sleep, and sauntered to the very depths of Buffy’s mind. It may always be there during the bad times, ready to surge forth and hold her in its jaws. But, with the understanding of those who cared for her, she would beat it and prove she could fight back.

~~~xxx~~~  
 

_My vision has been tarnished by an illness which causes my brain to malfunction._

_My eyes work perfectly, but what I see is completely different to you._

_Because, unlike you, there are certain chemicals acting in my brain to make it interpret the world as a darker place._

_Just keep this in mind, because when you say things like ‘Don’t worry’ and ‘Cheer up’ or ‘Stop stressing so much’ all you do is make me feel bad for not having the biochemistry to do so._

_-Unknown._


End file.
